


The Reckoning

by defectcriminal



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Gen, It's a big idea and a bigger plot, M/M, This story is definitely going to be very long, plot over porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-19 06:17:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11307444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defectcriminal/pseuds/defectcriminal
Summary: The realm is on the precipice of change, and there has always been a bigger plan for it. The great war is coming, and the Dragon Queen's vengeance will shake the very heavens. After millennia of planning, her pieces are finally falling into place.**Rating will likely change to explicit as the story progresses. Romance is not the main purpose here, but it will happen. Plot over porn for this one, folks. I will not depict any rape scenes, but they will be alluded to.**





	1. A Story, Abbreviated

She remembered her days in her clan as a child vividly. That life had passed far too long ago, but she still remembered her mother’s songs and the poultices and poisons she had taught her to make, and she remembered her father teaching her to skin hares and how to string a bow. They had taught her many things before her tenth summer, in the hopes that she would find a trade with the clan soon and become an apprentice, and better the clan. She had been taught many different languages (like every Lavellan child), taught how to blend in with city elves, how to steal coins from an Orlesian noble’s purse and not get caught doing so, and ultimately how to survive.

That had always been the way with the Dalish. Her twin, Ashara, had been given the same chances and schooling. But her sister had shown her magic when she was only seven, and Keeper Deshanna had been more than happy to choose her as her First. Her sister was everything a good Keeper could have been: devout, intelligent, gracious, and assertive. She had learned her creation magic well, and in the few short years they were together, bonded at the hip as twins often were, had been the kindest years of her life. 

When Asha’bellanar came to the clan, it was because the ancient witch demanded a tithe, of sorts. A child for the Dragon Queen, a vessel to carry out her will. When her terrible and golden eyes had settled on her, and her sister, the clan had begged to keep her sister, the future of the clan’s knowledge. 

The last memory she had of her clan was her sister’s blood, fresh and hot over her hands, and a promise that they would be bound eternal, a promise that their children would find each other one day. And promises made with blood magic were always kept. 

So the witch took her to Val Royeaux and dropped her on Lady Mantillon’s steps. She carried nothing but the dragon pendant, a letter, and her sharp ears. The Lady had turned her into the bard Orlais had always asked for, likely only because of the contents of the letter from the witch. While the human woman had absolutely no love or care for her in her youth, and likely still would not to this day, she had trained her, fed her, and allowed her to keep her name. 

It was certainly more than most elven girls could ask for, especially the Dalish ones. 

When she had turned seventeen, after a grueling seven years of proving her worth, Lady Mantillon had informed her that it was her responsibility to do the good Emperor’s work in Ferelden. She had never been able to carry much love for the dog lords, but it was easy at first to pose as an alienage girl and work her way into the palace as a servant for Queen Rowan herself. Through her, Orlais learned of Maric’s bastard boy, Cailan’s undeniable idiocy, Loghain’s combat tactics as a general, and much, much more sensitive political and military information. 

She had been good at what she did. She had spent fifteen years in service to the Orlesian crown as a throwaway spy, and in that time had watched her dearest Queen Rowan’s death, helped raise her son, and later, was responsible for the intel that snatched King Maric from the ship he’d been 'lost at sea' on, landing him in a prison cell beneath Val Royeaux. 

She didn’t really bear any allegiance to the Fereldan royal family, and even less for Lady Mantillon, but the only way she had ever been able to cope with being sold to the Witch of the Kocari Wilds was by believing she needed to serve a higher purpose to her. Somehow, she had to believe that there was a higher purpose in putting good kings in prison and serving the Orlesian throne. She had to believe that one day the witch would come for her, and finally tell her that there was some purpose to it all. 

She had hoped that one day she would be able to see her sister again, but she felt it in her bones the day she died. There had never been a confirmation, but she felt her jaw snap and her chest tighten, felt a cord sever deep in the pit of her stomach one day, when her own daughter was barely three. 

After that her only hope was that her daughter would find her way back to clan Lavellan somehow, that her sister’s children and her own child would be united and something would go right for her again. 

It had been easy to play the role of another woman in the alienage, another woman with an unremarkable life. It surprised her that she had ever grown to love her sweet husband, a kindhearted man who always thought before he spoke and thought twice before he acted. It had surprised her more when she’d decided it was worth it to keep a child, to raise her daughter to be strong and tempestuous. It may have given her sweet girl a smart mouth and a deft set of hands, but she could not fault herself for a few slices of happiness from a world that meant no good for her. 

When Flemeth came for her once more, her little girl was only fourteen. Too young to be grown, but too big to be a child, by all Dalish standards. As far as her clan would have been concerned, her smart little child would have been grown enough to be a trained and established hunter, but this was not the way of elves that honored Andraste. Instead, she was just an alienage girl that was good with knives and better with lockpicks.

The witch had found her in the cellar of the palace, and had patiently informed her that it was high time she prove her worth. The Dragon Queen had come to claim her finally, and had given another elven woman her face, left her mangled and rumpled body in an alley by the alienage, and had forced her departure without so much as a goodbye. 

She never forgave herself for not giving her daughter a farewell, rather than a fable that she had been murdered by bastard shemlen. 

When the blight came, and darkspawn surged to the surface, Flemeth had finally shown her what her true purpose had always been.  
It had been more than thirty years since she’d been taken from her clan. Thirty long years of servitude to Asha’bellanar, and she had never thought she would be rewarded. She had always assumed that her dragon’s blood would be the only thing she was good for, and that she would be drained until she was dry searching for a way to end the darkspawn taint. 

Knowing about Grand Enchanter Fiona’s loss of the taint, she knew she had to seek out Maric’s bastard, Alistair, herself. Though she would settle for any Warden who had more than a modicum of knowledge. That seemed to be hard to do, given that she wasn’t a Warden herself. They were a tight-lipped breed, secretive to a fault, and it was infuriating. Furthermore, she had met so few on her travels over the last two years that she eventually gave up looking for leads amongst lone wardens and had started trudging through the mountains of the Anderfels herself just to get to Weisshaupt. 

Suffice to say, it was a long journey to the Warden fortress. She was no stranger to long expeditions, having spent literal years underground in the Deep Roads, but this journey had been completed entirely on her own. 

As a woman with quite a lot of skills at her disposal, this was absolutely fine. But she was certainly getting older, and the cold of the Anderfels was getting to her aching knees and hands. And since she had nobody but her horse to keep her company, she had no qualms complaining to the sweet beast. 

What she had never, truly expected since leaving the Dalish behind, was for a miracle to happen. She had never had many miracles, with the exception of her sweet husband and darling daughter, her brief moments of humanity scattered about her life. 

Weisshaupt was an incredible and beautiful fortress, crafted of fine granite with polished marble steps. It was taller than the palace of Denerim, and the palace of Val Royeaux even. She had never seen a fortress quite so large and well defended, with incredibly high walls and fortifications she certainly could not dream of seeing from outside. 

There were a scant few Wardens on guard at the front, and she could hear the clashing of swords from training grounds behind the walls. 

The two guards at the gate of the fortress halted her, and from her position above them it was easier to claim a commanding voice. 

“State your business,” The first guard, an elf with marred dark skin demanded. 

“I’ve come because I’m seeking to end the Darkspawn taint, and I’m looking for information, or any kind of research you may have gathered. I sent word ahead in hopes of speaking with Warden Theirin, specifically.”

The guards exchanged a long, heavy look, before the short one sounded his horn and the taller of the two signaled for the gates to open. 

Beyond the gates she could see the courtyard and the handful of Wardens on the training grounds, all coming to a standstill as she approached on her horse. Many of them eyed her with warning, and she could feel the stares at her back. Distrustful lot, as always. 

And then, at the end of the courtyard, drenched in sweat with two heavy practice blades in her hands, hair as wild and long as it had always been, was her miracle. 

She knew her daughter recognized her immediately, but still, she could see Amelie’s breath catch, and the blades fall to the ground. 

And oh, how her daughter had grown. She had her father’s jaw, but her own incredible blue eyes and mouth, with strong and muscular shoulders worn through battle. Every inch of her exposed skin was littered with scars, but she was taller still than when she was a teenager, and there was a hardened look to her features that reminded her so much of herself. 

“Your name.” It was a demand, and she had never been more proud. A true miracle, not only to see her daughter, but to see her with so much force and command in her bones. 

“Adaia Tabris,” she declared, coming off of her horse. 

Her daughter sprinted to her, pulling her into a fierce embrace that certainly could not make up for the last fifteen years of missing her, years she wished she had never missed, that duty had pulled her from. 

Her little girl smelled like sweat, and horses, but the top of her head smelled just like it did when she was a child, and she decided that she could thank Asha’bellanar for this miracle, as it was surely the crone’s doing. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetling,” she whispered, “I have so much to tell you.”

Her daughter pulled away from her, and looked at her hard. It did not surprise her to know that her daughter was the Hero of Ferelden, and it surprised her even less to see her lips purse, and her eyebrows knot together. “You’ll have to start at the beginning. I’ll arrange for quarters for you. You owe me too many explanations, so don’t expect to disappear. Is that clear?”

Of course, she did raise her to have a smart mouth. It didn’t surprise her to know that her daughter was going to call all of the shots so long as she was here at Weisshaupt.


	2. A Brief Conversation, Before Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter was originally written from a different perspective, and then I decided it would be better done this way. I'm rather happy with it, mostly just having fun building up my characters. Please read and review, folks! And let me know if there are any editorial errors I can check.

The Herald had been on edge for the entirety of the two months spent in the Hinterlands. He'd watched her chew her fingernails to nubs, braid and re-braid her impossibly long hair multiple times a day while walking, watched her fuss over every Inquisition scout and every small problem brought to her eyes. The crossroads was full of injured and sick, and needed a healer. So she found one. New requisitions? Bring them over. A refugee’s wife needed potion to keep her breathing? He was sure Elera would have gone even if the fort didn't have a rift at its belly. 

She could not sit still. She was always drumming her fingers, shaking her legs, playing with her hair or daggers or knives, fletching and repairing reclaimed arrows, picking herbs and drudging up crafting materials, and by the end of the third week she even took over the cooking. The Herald filled every waking moment with movement and purpose. 

She did not sleep well. Varric didn't know if this had always been an issue, or was something triggered by the blast, but he had woken in the night on more than one occasion to find her completing various tasks while keeping watch (sharpening the blades, reading, journaling, even sketching various plant species). Once, he had heard her groaning in her sleep, mumbling with panic about hands, or horses, or the dark. 

She was afraid of the dark. He found this rather amusing since, as an elf, she could see much better in the dark than her other companions, but it gave her pause all the same. She would not enter her tent without a covered lantern, and would not travel at night without a torch, or the light of Solas’ staff. 

The Herald was, however, so charming that Chuckles couldn't keep away from her, but he wasn't alone in this. In fact, even Cassandra had taken a liking to her. She was curious, and always wanted to know more and more about her companions. And she was very open, at least outwardly. Her face was youthful, bright, and lined with a deep and angry scar through her cheek. He was certain that Solas and Cassandra were absolutely as taken by her honest, and kind brown eyes as he was. He had seen eyes like hers in many people, and it still shocked him to see how comfortable she was with humans, unlike Daisy, who couldn't even get comfortable with her own people. He had never met a Dalish elf that wasn't bothered by humans. She seemed immune to fear about them. The fact that she was willing to help stabilize the region by closing all of the present rifts, by ensuring the villagers had food and blankets to protect them from the cold, told him that she was definitely raised by a different kind of clan than what he had come across. 

This was proven in many different ways: the fact that she could read, was multilingual, was trained both in close range combat and in archery was enough to indicate this, paired with her attitude towards humans, and non-Dalish elves. She had a degree of foresight that he wouldn’t have anticipated from a hunter for a Dalish clan -- no, Elera always thought carefully and quickly.

The first thing they had done upon arrival was deal with the Templar and Mage problem. 

When he was running with Hawke instead of feeding Isabela intel to keep her safe, Varric had agreed with hers and Anders’ hatred of the circle and its inability to safely care for and teach mages for their protection. The Circle was broken, and the Templar Order festering off of it. But these people were doing the innocent an injustice: they robbed the refugees of safety, and many of their lives. Nothing made a difference to them when it came to battle, because they truly did not care who they turned their staves to. But these did not represent the whole of the rebel mage group, a thought that brought him relief as well as pause, for two reasons. First, that meant that the apostates at work here at the crossroads were more than happy to slaughter, which meant that the Templars that were fighting just as viciously were also happy to do so. Second, it implied that the rebel mages showed no interest in working with the refugees of the war they had taken part in. 

It took them three weeks to root out the mages and the templars camped in the Witchwood and the west road. When they had finally emptied the crossroads of the offenders, he felt the area breathe a much needed sigh of relief. The people here deserved a rest, and the Herald was more than happy to help that come to pass. 

It was, in a way, very smart for her to do these favors for the crossroads. Completion of tasks like hunting, obtaining supply caches, even delivering herbs to the healer -- they all made the Inquisition more palatable and more trustworthy, as opposed to a domineering military organization. So, according to Elera, it stood to reason that they should do their best to help the refugees and stabilize the region while simultaneously seeking out and closing the rifts marked on the map by the forward scouts. 

This took them four weeks. It might have taken less time, but Elera was stunningly bad at taking care of herself, and worked herself into exhaustion, given that she hardly slept. 

Just like right now. 

He woke late in the night, with a handful of hours before dawn. She was reading a note sent to them by one of Leliana’s ravens, but the note was worn and wrinkled. Clearly this was not the first, or the second, or even the third time she had worn the parchment through her fingers. It was not her watch, or at least it wasn't supposed to be. She had taken the first watch, but Chuckles was supposed to be on now. 

“Can't sleep?”

Her eyes were purple with sleep deprivation, and to have her tired gaze meet his with a thin smile. Even exhausted, she still had a pretty kindness to her eyes that might have reminded him of Hawke once. 

“I want to get back to Haven, but there is so much to do,” she sighed, voice brittle. “And then we must travel to Val Royeaux. I'm still not sure how to even speak to the clerics, should I get to meet them.”

“So you're anxious, then?” He summarized, probing.

She wrinkled her nose as if she'd said the wrong thing. “Well, yes, but not just about this, not exactly,” she corrected, handing him the note. It was dated two weeks ago, and was written in a code that Leliana hadn't taught him, which meant this was information he wasn't supposed to see, and he could even tell that it was written in the spymaster’s own hand. 

She seemed like she didn't know how to continue, but like she needed to, and finally she sighed heavily and leveled a gaze at him. “The only people who know what I'm about to tell you are Cassandra and Leliana.”

He was pleased to be included, but in his experience having knowledge that few others did was a heavy burden, indeed. “Alright,” 

“I suppose it won't be a secret very long,” she started, rolling the note and tucking it into her pouch at her belt. “My daughter is coming to Haven. Or, well, she’s arrived already.”

If he was honest, he never would have considered Elera to be a mother. She hardly looked old enough to have a daughter, but it started to explain a lot of things about her all at once. The ferocity she fought with, the sense of duty and presence she devoted to each task in front of her, and her general warmth suddenly were explained by this surprise child. Seriously, though, how old was she? “Is the kid very young?”

“It will be her seventeenth nameday this spring,” Elera whispered, with a small smile on her face. “Mamae always told me that when a babe was born in spring, it was good luck. As I get older, she's right more and more frequently.” 

When she laughed, like right now, Elera’s face became more youthful than it already was, and warmed her features with a delicate blush that was absolutely heart-stopping. Her smile softened the deep gash that cut through her tattoos, the glaring curved and dotted marks naming her as Dalish from a mile away. The scar that ripped through them went from the corner of her eye to the base of her mouth, something nasty that Varric didn’t even want to know the story behind. Except he did, but he didn’t know how to ask yet. 

“Wouldn't it be best for her to stay with your clan?” 

At this, her smile faded. “We are clanless,” she said matter of factly. “But we've done alright.” 

He didn’t know very many Dalish elves that were clanless, except Feynriel’s mother and Daisy, and he knew that whatever could have pushed them out must have ripped through the Herald to her core. As far as he had ever known, elves were only cast from their clans after committing some serious crime, or if there were too many mages in one group. It was unlikely, but not unheard of for the people to leave their families, but typically they were shuffled about clans, not entirely clanless. He wondered which group she and her child fell into. 

“What’s her name?” Varric asked.

“Io,” the Herald smiled, and of course, the smile dazzled him with pride. He couldn’t imagine what it would have looked like for his own mother to smile that way about him. 

“How did you become clanless?”

Elera’s expression darkened at this, and she kicked dust into the coals of the fire. Her body temperature seemed to grow even warmer at this, and it made Varric start to sweat under his tunic despite the cool air of the mountains. “There were already three mages in the clan, and they were eager to have us go. So when she started showing her abilities by her sixth spring, she was sent away. And I would not leave her.” 

“How long have you been separated?”

At this, she hung her head almost in shame, and hid her eyes from him. With a thin voice, she answered, “I left two weeks before the conclave. It's been three months since I've seen her.” He didn't have to ask if she left her daughter alone, because he could hear it in the way her voice cracked with regret. 

“I was so worried,” she continued. “I know at my heart that she was alright, that she could take care of herself for some time, and that she had the resources to sustain and protect herself. She had wanted to come with me to the Conclave so badly,” 

“Somehow I feel like it’s for the better that she didn’t,” he supplied, trying to ease the obvious sadness, almost shame, in her voice.

“That is true. If she had been harmed in the explosion…” 

She didn't finish her thought, and didn’t need to. Part of him had a hard time believing that a young mage had the ability and the resources to take care of and protect herself for months on end, especially since the child was likely self taught, but he remembered Hawke and how she had made it for a few years after her father died. It rose questions -- where had she been? Did the Herald have a home somewhere, a safe place? Was she nomadic, traveling endlessly with her daughter? Who trained her daughter, if anyone? 

He knew better than to ask these questions too soon. It would be it’s own story eventually, and he was mostly just pleased at the warmth spreading through him in knowing that she trusted him. Varric found that Elera was certainly the kind of person he could follow, and for more than a few reasons, he almost felt smaller in her presence. 

“Thank you, Varric,” Elera said after a moment. “You've helped put my mind at ease.” The hand she squeezed his shoulder with was hot, and she was practically thrumming with something, the same something he remembered Hawke having, the same something Daisy had. The amulet at her throat glowed brightly, almost pink, and he wondered what it was enchanted with to make her so incredibly warm. 

At the sight of her head cradled at her knees, body hunched over, eyes shut tight, he thought it might be better to let sleep claim her. 

There were many hours until dawn, and he had a lot to think about. He let her sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't quite figured out how I want this to end, but I sort of know where I'm doing and I sort of know how I'm going to get there. Chapters will not be told from the same perspective each time, and this is definitely going to be a story that tells us a lot. I've always had a lot of theories about the lore of Dragon Age, and I'm excited to explore them. Summary is subject to change as I actually flesh this story out more. 
> 
> Please comment and review, folks, your input really matters to me and I'm always looking for constructive criticisms.


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